


visitor⧂

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Eve inhabited every corner of Malcolm's loft. Gone was the pain of her leaving him, and all that remained was the reminder she was murdered because of him.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	visitor⧂

**Author's Note:**

> a few paragraphs came from a flash fic i wrote, the rest og

_try to get out_

For once, getting out of his loft wasn’t the problem. Malcolm wasn’t sheltered under the blankets in bed, stationed at his desk, or holed up where no one would find him unless they went looking.

Going back home was the problem.

Eve inhabited every corner of his loft. Gone was the pain of her leaving him, and all that remained was the reminder she was murdered because of him. Because of her connection to his family. Because his father had planned to murder her sister. Because fate had brought them together and inhaling the forbidden drink of want had tipped her over a bridge, tearing them apart.

Physically, anyway. Mentally, he couldn’t get rid of her.

He had to turn right at the end of the block to avoid the park. Turn left at the next to bypass the café where she liked to get a late brunch while he sipped another cup of coffee. Close his eyes to hide from the flowers she enjoyed, only to be assaulted by their now repulsive scent. Take the long way anywhere so he could manage to get there. Barely.

Where was he going exactly?

_i can meet you for coffee_

Noooooo. His feet moved faster in a getaway to… _fuck_ , not the river. The distant waves washed over him, threatening to pull him under to join her. He did an about-face and scurried back inland.

Gabrielle would tell him to stop avoiding all these places, as it would only make things worse in the long run. Good thing he hadn’t been back for her to scold him. She’d probably get on him about that too.

Left — uptown, uptown, uptown. The Law Offices of Burns & Schmidt. He flinched and continued on as if scampering far enough would make his mind run out of tape and rewrite over her memory. Sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth — striding by the bustle of people moving for work. Twenty-third, Twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth — faster, further, evade the disaster waiting at home.

It poured.

Not once in awhile drops nor every other plopping on his face. Not a mild sputtering prompting a quick dash indoors to wait out a sunshower. A deluge of torment soaking every inch of him in seconds.

“It’s the tropical depression coming,” he overheard a conversation waiting for a car to pass at the intersection.

He should’ve checked the weather.

Maybe he would’ve avoided the depression.

He inspected his fingers, the black cloth of his long-sleeved shirt clinging to his forearm, the grey of his sweatpants now turned black hanging off his hips. Was this what she looked like drowning? Ratty and losing the little life she had left? Grasping for something to show her the way out, but unable to find it?

Or was that him? Desperate for any answer about her departure, conjuring up explanations to deal with the darkness? To attempt closure of the unexplainable. To live. 

Months had passed, and he still couldn’t remember what before death felt like. Some days he got closer to it than further away.

He pulled up his pants and turned around. His sodden body only had one place to go now.

Well, two. But the bottom of the river wasn’t an option he was willing to explain to Gil.

The trudge back to his loft collected dirt in his sneakers, pieces of the street that latched on and wouldn’t slough off. Images of Eve’s face in autopsy. Stills of her decaying body. Photos of the man who held her while she drowned.

How had that happened exactly? She didn’t have bruises. No sedatives in her system. No alcohol for her to fall asleep in the tub. Did she struggle in her last moments? Were they peaceful?

He let himself into his building and sloshed up the stairs. Inside his loft, he stripped all his clothes at the door in an attempt to leave the flood behind.

He gave himself a quick patdown with a towel and put on a fresh outfit, his hands hiding in the soft fleece. He made his way back toward the living room, pausing when his slipper sock hit something wet.

His bare feet had tracked shiny footprints to the bathroom. He couldn’t escape the creeping water. Were there multiple sets? Or just his?

He sighed and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Took a few sips.

_it’s a bit wet — we could text or play a game_

He lowered himself to lay flat on the hardwood before the living room so his day could only go up. Closed his eyes. Took a few centering deep breaths and reopened them.

Eve floated across the floor at the perfect angelic distance, just far enough up so her gossamer swaths didn’t touch, only trailed around her. Raised her up onto a pedestal a head taller than Malcolm, taking over his loft like her own, roaming every corner with her glimmering face and freshly kissed lips.

“Please don’t stay,” Malcolm pleaded in a whisper to the ceiling.

He grasped the glass of whiskey near his hand. In full view of every part of his loft, he gave Eve all the more opportunity to find him.

She looked so happy gliding around, not speaking, always reaching for him, trying to reconnect. His lips chilled when he lifted his head for another sip.

“Don’t,” a watery plea fell from his mouth.

He swallowed another taste of her, unable to free himself.

White fabric drifted behind her as she moved to the kitchen. His jaw trembled and he rubbed his fingers over his eyes in a bid to remove her from his vision.

Funny how losing a person he loved made nothing work anymore. But he didn’t love her. He cared. He was happy. He idolized what she represented. Would he have that again? Could he be fixed?

He opened his eyes to muffins on the kitchen counter.

Lies.

_i’m downstairs — i have twizzlers_

Malcolm tipped his phone back and forth in his hand. Sat up and finished his whiskey in one gulp. Hit the buzzer and ran his pile of clothes to the wash, trailing heavy drips behind him. Rushed back to the door and swung it open —

To Dani holding a fist of Twizzlers like a bouquet, the ends drooping. He waved her in and took her umbrella, waiting an extra moment for her coat after she kicked off her shoes.

“I see you got rained on too,” Dani remarked, looking at his hair. She didn’t comment on his watery mess.

“Come sit,” Malcolm guided her toward the kitchen.

Her pant legs were spattered with raindrops, her hair extra frizzy from the moisture. Somehow through all this mess, she had made the decision to come see him when she could’ve been warm at home.

“Do you want some dry pants? A blanket?” Malcolm offered, starting the kettle.

“I’ll take the blanket.”

Malcolm felt through the chest at the end of his bed for the softest blanket and handed it to Dani. She wrapped it around her shoulders, giving her a cape. He prepared two mugs of Earl Grey and sat beside her, both of them cradling the mugs and inhaling its citrusy scent. The pile of Twizzlers lay on the counter between them.

“I can share,” Dani offered, holding one end of the blanket up to him.

“Okay,” Malcolm replied, looking at the counter. He accepted the edge of the blanket and wrapped it around him, pulling them a little closer together.

They sat quietly, playing with the tags on the teabags. Dani opened the end of one of the Twizzlers and pointed it at Malcolm.

He accepted it, shared, “Thanks for coming,” and took a bite.

“Had a whole bunch o’ extra candy to get rid of.” She shrugged.

Just like he had a planned walking destination long before the rain. “Could you stay a bit?” Malcolm requested.

“Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“Anything.” He hadn’t thought beyond welcome company.

“You have board games here somewhere?”

“A few.”

They sipped their tea, taking their time to savor the warmth.

“I’ve been…having a hard time.” Malcolm gripped his mug a little tighter, his knuckles turning white. “I don’t really want to talk about it. But this helps…you’re helping.”

“I have properties to win.” Dani gave him a smile.

“It might just be Scrabble and Checkers,” Malcolm warned. “Or there’s chess already in the living room.”

Dani shrugged. “Anything’s fine.”

“Maybe a few more minutes?”

“However long you need.”

Huddled together in his kitchen, Malcolm looked to the living room, the bedroom. No other inhabitants beyond their tea settings.

Temporarily, at least.

Maybe with the help of a friend, he could stay in.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
